Second Best
by Foxfeather
Summary: An AU where Bad Wolf Bay never took place and John meets a girl who has a thing for Doctors... S/J in essence, also Ten/Rose and a few other surprise pairings
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer:

Sherlock and John belong to Hartswood films, BBC Wales, Steven Moffat and Mark Gattis.

Dr Who belongs to BBC, too.

I'm not either of those, I'm just a fangirl. And as such, I don't make any money of this.

Thanks to my lovely beta, Meredydd, also know by other names around the interwebs

English isn't my first language, so any Americanisms, and any other mistakes and typos are all my own. You may point them out to me, but be kind… us writers are fragile things…

This takes place sometime after "The Great Game" in Sherlock-verse and sometime after "Doomsday" in Doctor-Who-verse.

Just so you be prepared: here be

John Watson, Rose Tyler, the Tenth Doctor, the TARDIS and Sherlock Holmes in various combinations and various states of sexual tension. And yes, you read that right.

Part 1 – John

It was one of those days. Only this time, it got worse.

John got out of bed, still half-asleep and convinced that he was late – which he wasn't – and in his haste, stepped on the edge of his slippers. Pain shot through his foot and his knee buckled under him when he tried to gain his balance and, stepping forward to catch himself, his toe collided with the foot of his dresser.

Now wide awake, he limped down to the bathroom to take care of things and to shave and did a double take when he passed the mirror. Which was covered in lipstick hearts.

For a second the world stopped spinning. Did he know? Had Sherlock found out about Johns feelings for him? John's heart clenched with the faintest glimmer of hope. Then he noticed that each heart had been drawn with a different kind of lipstick: colour, shine, moisturiser. An experiment then. John's heart started beating again. He pondered if he should try to wipe the mirror clean to be able to shave properly, but then he decided against it. Getting lipstick off a mirror was not as easy as it looked. Sherlock put it on, Sherlock take it off.

The resulting dance-like sway in front of the mirror while he tried to watch what he shaved resulted in him nicking his neck. Sweet.

John had stopped the bleeding with cold water, yelped when his aftershave burned in the cut and hit his toe – again. He looked one last time at the mirror, grimaced a fake grin at it and turned to face HIM.

HE was draped over the sofa like somebody had poured him there. "Morning, Sherlock", mumbled John, trying not to gape into his flat-mate's open collar as he passed.

He got no answer. Sherlock had his fingers steepled under his chin and was busy staring at the ceiling. Probably trying to relate the lipstick-hearts to what kind of underwear a woman who used said lipstick would wear.

John went on to the kitchen and set up the kettle. The fridge looked startlingly void of body-parts. John sniffed the milk – not off, opened the butter – no fingers inside the box, the tea-can – which held teabags, and nothing else, took a mug that he had cleaned thrice yesterday and which was still sitting exactly as he'd placed it, opened the jam-jar, which gave a pop that indicated that it had not been opened before and opened the bag of toast. The kettle started to whistle and John started to prepare his breakfast. He was just about to bite into his toast when Sherlock spoke up.

"Tea, three sugars and a dash of milk please, and don't eat the toast."

Too late. John had just take then first bite and as soon as his tastebuds detected it, he spit it out in disgust, knocking over his tea and burning his hand on the hot liquid.

"It's an experiment..."

"Eeeeww!" John dropped the rest of the toast, and as it landed jam-side down on the floor he spotted the mould.

"Don't use the milk.." Sherlock said.

John had opened the milk again and was busy drinking right out of the box to get rid of the taste.

"... it will just seal the taste on your tongue in."

"Eeeeeewww!" John rubbed his tongue against his lower teeth to try to get the taste off, then started to shovel sugar into his mouth.

The sweetness made his teeth hurt and after he managed to crunch around on the sugar and swallow it instead of spitting it back out, he exploded.

"Sherlock! We had an agreement! No experiments with the food in the kitchen! All non-edible experiments are to be marked as 'not-food'! Are you trying to kill me here?"

"The toast was marked."

John turned around the bag and spotted a tiny red skull drawn with a felt-tip pen next to the label.

"Tea, now, please?"

John gave a light shudder, then steeled himself and said: "No."

He 'heard' Sherlock open his eyes in the other room.

"W...what?"

There must've been something in John's voice that made him do a double-take like that.

"I... said... no. Get up and get your own tea. I'm your flat-mate, not your house-keeper, your nanny, or your slave. Get used to it. And get rid of the lipstick!"

And with that, John left the flat though the kitchen-door without having to face Sherlock again. He slipped on his shoes, ties still bound from the day before, grabbed his jacket and slammed the door behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2 - Sherlock

Sherlock was up from the sofa in what seemed to him like milliseconds. He hid behind the curtains as he watched John stomp out of the house and onto the street, looking both ways before he finally decided to turn in direction of Regent's Park.

_I'm not your housekeeper_, John had said.

But in a way he was, always doing the shopping because Sherlock would get lost in deducting the lives of the people by what was in their trolleys or the philosophy of a company by the shape of its logo. He'd cook, not because Sherlock wasn't able to, but because he liked to experiment. A lot. The chilli in the vanilla pudding had been the last time John had allowed him to enter the kitchen while he prepared a meal and that was that. John also did the washing, after the 'bubble-incident', as John called it. John also cleaned the flat. Sherlock was the God of Chaos and as such he always knew where everything was in said chaos. No need to clean up. And not-eaten things buried under other things tended to become alive after a while, which in itself was fascinating! John didn't seem to share that thought, though, so if he wanted to clean the flat, Sherlock let him do it. It was not as if he was an egoist.

_I'm not your nanny_, John had said.

Sherlock had never asked him to make a fuss over him, it was just something John did. He made him eat, kicked him into the shower when he had crawled around in a skip to look for evidence and stank to high heaven afterwards. It disrupted his thought processes to have to get clean and change his clothes instead of just race on to the next clue dirty as he was, but John had put his foot down and Sherlock had obeyed, just for the peace of it.

All in all, John had wanted to do those things for him, so he let him. He wouldn't have thought poorly of John if he hadn't done the cleaning, cooking, washing and fussing, but John had started it, it seemed to be an urge John couldn't suppress, and so Sherlock had given in an had let him do it.

Really, it was just a sign of how he appreciated the man. With everyone else, he would have growled and thrown a hissy fit if they had even thought about touching his things or interrupting his thought processes. But John had slowly wormed his way inside his barriers and nested there. And he had just something about him that made Sherlock tolerate him there.

_I'm not your slave_, John had said.

Slaves were things that one owned, that normally were treated badly, maybe even not only out of thoughtlessness, but of spite. Had Sherlock treated John like a slave? He reviewed the last scene in his head. Nope. No slavery involved. The last day? Week? Month? Sherlock had let John do what he wanted, needed, to do when around Sherlock. He had allowed him to fuss, to adore, to be grumpy, to give his expertise as a doctor, to run after him like a puppy, and to watch him like he was some alien from another world. He had not once rebuffed him for anything he'd done, he hadn't acted (overly) possessive about him (though it made him gnash his teeth when Donovan and Anderson called John 'the freak's puppy') even though the man could hear them.

So, why had John said that he was his slave, then?

Sherlock decided to ask him when he came home again. Which wouldn't take long. John hadn't had any dinner last night and was sure to be hungry. He'd be on his way to one of the bakeries around to get something non-mouldy to eat and then he'd be back, because he had left his wallet in the other jacket. No money, no food. So...

Sherlock glanced at his watch and started to count backwards. Three minutes. Two minutes. One minute. 30 seconds. 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

No John.

Well, maybe he had taken a bite out of whatever he'd wanted to eat before he noticed he had no money and was now arguing with the baker about it. But that ought to have taken not longer than two, maximum three minutes. Again, he began to count.

No John.

Sherlock picked up his phone.

_To: John _

_You left your wallet. SH_

He heard a ping outside.

_To: John_

_And your phone. SH_

He heard the ping before he noticed what he had done. He blinked at his own stupidity about sending that second text when he already knew John couldn't read it.

That... was new. He would make sure to delete that second text later.

He glanced out of the window again. Still no John.

His insides began to feel weird. A bit like they had after the incident with the bomb jacket and the swimming pool.

Was he... worried?

Nah.

Not him.

Still no John.

Whatever he'd done wrong that morning for John to see himself as a slave, it had been a big mistake. Even if he didn't know what it was. But John was a big boy. He could take care of himself. Sherlock nodded and decided to drape himself back onto the sofa and let his thoughts go back to the lipstick-case. Oh, and later, he would do what John said (to make him happy) and to wipe the mirror clean again.

He made three steps toward the sofa, then turned around and looked out of the window again.

Still no John.


	3. Chapter 3

Part 3 - John

John walked on without looking where he went. He'd wanted to go to the bakery but had discovered that he had left his wallet at home. The thought about his own stupidity/thoughtlessness/whatever made his eyes sting. Sherlock would have noticed by now and would have a field day about it. Stupid John, not able to even take care of himself without the Mighty Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes doing the thinking for him. Well, the MCDSH could go fuck himself in the dark.

John stuffed his fists deeper into his pockets. No phone. Fuck. Forgot that, too. Double fuck.

But fuck the wallet, he wasn't hungry anymore. Who needed food anyway? Food was for losers. The MCDSH didn't need food, so why should he, the NSMDJW (Not So Mighty Doctor John Watson)?

John kicked at a pebble that was lying conveniently in front of his foot and stubbed his toe AGAIN on the edge of a cobblestone hiding behind it.

That was it. FUCK THE WORLD!

John felt the sting in his eyes become more prominent and decided then and there not to cry, not to cry, not in front of all these people who wouldn't give a fucking damn, but nonetheless, he wouldn't cry.

God, he was so pathetic. Meeting that mad man that was Sherlock Holmes he had had nothing better to do but to FALL for him, hard and fast. It had happened when Sherlock came back for him and had asked him along on that first case and he had answered 'Oh God, yes' and it hadn't been because of the thrill of the case, because of the danger but because he could spend more time with HIM.

He had soon found out that Sherlock hadn't fallen for him too, not that he had expected that, but that the man only knew two emotions at all: thrilled (about having a case) and bored (about not having a case). So he had stomped on his heart and enjoyed being able to just be in the presence of the detective. It had irked him that Sherlock almost immediately had begun to order him around, but as a good little soldier, he hadn't complained. And then, when it was already too late, he had started to protest, but after Sherlock had ignored that, he had started to obey again. But it had begun to grate on his nerves. He felt taken for granted. He himself was thankful for being allowed to stand in the shadow of the master, but getting not the slightest thanks in return for what he did for the man (washing, cleaning, making sure Sherlock didn't crumble from low blood-sugar, stuff like that) made him feel... bitter. Un-loved. Just barely tolerated. And that he felt grateful for being 'just tolerated' made him feel a self-hatred he'd not though he had been capable of. He was worth something. He was a soldier, he had the medals to prove his worth, but he still felt... not-enough. He knew that his low self-esteem was bullshit, but he just couldn't help himself. He was wallowing in self-pity and that made his self-hatred only worse.

The sting in his eyes was barley tolerable now and John refused to blink because that surely would make the first tear spill and THAT would get the floodgates to open, so he looked around for someplace to hide from the world and what he found fit his need perfectly. A blue, fifties-style police box. And he was lucky, too, the first time today, for it wasn't locked. So he opened the door, slipped inside, shut the door behind him, sank to the ground and covered his face with his hands, letting the tears come.


	4. Chapter 4

Part 4 – The Doctor

He was fiddling with the controls, trying get the wobble out of the reverse engine when he heard the door open, then close, then shuffling and then... soft sobbing?

The Doctor stuck his head up from beneath the TRADIS's control centre and stared.

A man had just entered, and was now sitting on the floor, facing the door, hiding his face in his hands. Just like that.

The Doctor scratched his head and looked again. He was pretty sure he'd locked the door. No. Not pretty sure. 100 % sure. So... he glared at the console and crawled out of the hole in the floor as silently as possible. It could still be a hallucination, couldn't it? Or a hologram? Or another malfunction of the TARDIS. Or, last option, the TARDIS had let this guy in. But why would she do that?

The man continued his soft sobbing, almost noiselessly, but his shoulders shook and his whole body had started to tremble with it.

Carefully (it could still be some kind of trap?) the Doctor approached the man. Who didn't react at all. The Doctor decided to clear his throat. The man hiccupped, then continued his shaking.

The Doctor threw his hand up in a gesture of helplessness, then decided to sit down next to the man.

The man reacted by looking up from his hands, well not 'up', but down to the Doctor's shoes, then turned away from him and buried his face in his hands again. "Gwy", he mumbled.

"What?"

"Gwy."

"I take that to mean 'go away'?" the Doctor asked, just to be sure.

The man nodded.

"Err, I hate to point it out to you, but I live here. So, why don't you go away? I mean, not that I want you to go away", he back-paddled, "but it's not nice to tell a man to just leave his home because you need a place to cry."

The man's sobbing subsided a bit, but he still kept his face in his hands. "Whyd'y'l've'nsideabox?"

The Doctor shrugged. "I like it."

The man sniffed.

The Doctor patted himself down and came up with a large, and largely unused, handkerchief.

The man took it and wiped his face with it, but politely refused to blow his nose in it. The Doctor appreciated that.

"Soooo... come here often?" he heard himself ask. Stupid question.

But it got the man's attention. "No. It's my first time inside a..." he stopped, looked up, then around. "... police... box?"

The Doctor grinned and waited for the inevitable 'it's bigger on the inside'.

It never came. The man stood up and looked around, then blinked and that was it. "This is not a police box."

"Nope."

"It's dimensions inside are not what the outside makes you believe, mankind cannot do something like that, yet, therefore, this is either alien or from the future. Though why you made it look like a fifty's police box is beyond me. And since you said this was where you lived..." he turned around and looked the Doctor up and down, "you are either alien or from the future, too."

"Brilliant deduction, Mr. Holmes", the Doctor applauded.

The man shuddered. "That comment tells me, though, that I must be wrong." The Doctor almost missed the whispered "again".

"You work for Mycroft, then? And mankind, or rather the MI5 and MI6, can do... this..." he made a gesture to include the whole TARDIS.

The Doctor frowned. "Now that was not a good deduction."

The man, who had studied the floor beneath his feet, now glanced up at him.

"You called me 'Mr. Holmes'. I'm... not." He sounded bitter. "If you thought that was funny... it wasn't."

The Doctor frowned even more. "Now you've lost me. If you're not Mr. Holmes, and sorry if you didn't take that as being funny, I meant that as a compliment, then who are you?"

The man looked up into his face now, his expression depressed and forlorn and replied: "I'm Dr. John Watson."


	5. Chapter 5

Part 5 - John

The man who lived inside the police box gaped.

"I... that was a joke, right? What year is it? No way. Really?" He dashed over to the controls, stared at a screen, then at John, then at that screen again. He ran back at him, stopped, inched around him to the door, opened it and stared out. Outside, people minded their business, carried their shopping bags around, walked around with their noses in the tourist guides instead of looking where they were going and whatever else people did.

The man slammed the door shut again and inched his way back around him and up the entryway into the room.

"No. 2011. Yes way. Really." John answered meanwhile.

The man stared at him as if he'd grown a second head.

"Doctor John Watson."

John nodded.

"And you know a Mr. Holmes? Oh that's swell! I bet people make fun of that all the time." The man, who still hadn't introduced himself, seemed to come back to his senses.

John cocked his head questioningly. "Why would they do that?"

"Well, I mean, Holmes and Watson? Come on!"

John stayed silent. The man calmed down and stared some more.

"Mr. Holmes's given name... isn't Sherlock?"

John nodded. "It is."

The man gaped at him. "And you live at..."

John raised an eyebrow.

"221b..." the man's voice came to a halt as if he was waiting for something.

"Baker Street", John concluded for him.

"Impossible!"

"And Sherlock Holmes is a detective?"

"Consulting detective."

"Last thing, at Scotland Yard you work with?"

"DI Geoffrey Lestrade."

The man jumped up in the air as is something had bitten him.

"Fantastic! Wonderful! Incredible!" He came to a stop in front of John.

"What did you think?" John asked and stepped back before the other man could grab his head and start talking again.

"Sir Arthur Conan Doyle?"

John shook his head. "Never heard of him."

The man gaped. Again.

"So, who's he?" John asked.

"Writer, late 19th century. Wrote... detective stories... featuring one..." the man stopped and looked at him expectantly.

"Sherlock Holmes?" John concluded.

"And..."

"And... Dr. Watson...?" John looked at the man incredulously.

"Rrrrrrright in one!" The man jumped up and down again, then stilled.

"So... why were you crying?"

"Not important. Who are you, what is this, thing/box/house? And if I'm wrong with Mycroft, why are you here?"

"Mycroft, he he..." the man giggled. "Is he still so fat?"

"Fat? Errr, no... he's... on a diet..." John shoved the thought of an obese Mycroft into the back of his mind and stared the other man down with his most menacing stare.

The man caught on.

"I'm the Doctor, this is the TARDIS, and yes, you were wrong with Mycroft and for repairs."

"Doctor... what?"

"Just the Doctor."

John raised his eyebrow.

"TARDIS...", he prompted.

"Time and relative dimension in space." The man, no, the Doctor gestured around him.

"Makes sense. Repairs? What kind of machine is a TARDIS? Alien or time-machine?"

"She's a bit wobbly, nothing major. And both, actually. "

John looked sceptical.

The Doctor looked offended.

"Look if you are a character out of a book, then this can be a time-machine, right?" he challenged.

"I'm not a character out of a book. So this cannot be a time-machine, following your logic, Doctor." John still didn't believe any of this.

The Doctor jumped up and skipped over to the console he'd been working on.

"Let me show you."

And thus the madness began.


	6. Chapter 6

Part 6 - John

First thing that happened was that the Doctor almost stepped into the gaping hole in the floor next to the console he'd been working on. John's fast reflexes let him catch the Doctor underneath the arms as he went down, hoist him up again and manoeuvre him away from the hole. The Doctor flailed his arms around and managed to catch John in the face, which made him stumble back and almost step into the hole himself, before he managed to catch himself on the console.

A strange whooshing sound began to thunder through the room, a light started going up and down inside the column that stretched from the console up to the ceiling and the TARDIS started to wobble. Then the noise died down again. John decided to better close the hatch to the hole.

The Doctor stared. "How did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"You... she... listened to you!" The Doctor stepped over the hole and kicked the console, looking slightly miffed. "Why do you do that?" he asked the machine, who remained silent.

John frowned. "What did I do?"

"Don't know yet", the doctor answered and glanced at the console's monitors.

"What the..."

He skipped over the hole, even though John had closed it and opened the doors. The people outside, no, the whole of London had vanished.

Instead of it, there was a serene landscape bathed in moonlight. John stepped down to the doors and looked out. Two moons. One of them had rings. The other was green.

"What the hell..."

John just stared. The scene outside the TARDIS was beautiful. He almost didn't dare to step outside, just in case the TARDIS simply vanished, but then the Doctor jumped out and started running around, glancing at the moons and the stars and the plants and the lake and John could no longer resist.

The light wind carried a scent that was calming and sweet and warm and the high grass beneath his feet gleamed silver in the moonlight and brushed against his outstretched hands. He felt his eyes sting again, but this time with the beauty of it all.

The Doctor muttered something under his breath as he strutted around, not really seeing the scenery at all.

He stopped in front of John and glared at him.

"You shouldn't have been able to do that. Only a Time Lord is able to operate the TARDIS."

He leaned forward suddenly and pressed his ear against John's chest. John froze.

"And you're definitely not a Time Lord."

John took a breath he hadn't had noticed he had held and cocked his head.

"So you're a Time Lord, and you could hear that I'm not one, so Time Lords must have...?"  
"Two hearts" the Doctor explained.

"Two hearts", John whispered to himself and placed a hand on the doctor's chest. This time the Doctor froze while John concentrated on the strange quadruple thump under his hand.

"Doctor, remember?" John said as he glanced up and met the shocked eyes of the Doctor.

"Ah... yes. Yes. Still doesn't explain..." The Doctor cleared his throat and danced away from John's hand that was still lying over his hearts.

Then he stopped and threw the TARDIS a look. "She opened up for you and now she brought you here, and here is definitely not what the controls pointed to so she must have brought you here by her own will. But why?"

"She?"

"The TARDIS", the Doctor answered.

"She's... sentient?"

"Kind of..." The Doctor still eyed his ship/time machine/police box thingy up and down thoughtfully.

John felt a wave of affection and consolation stroke his mind and shuddered.

"She... telepathic?"

"Kind of..."

"I think she likes me..." John said and eyed the TARDIS suspiciously.

The Doctor pouted.

"What? I didn't ask her to open up for me. She just did it. And she brought me here to console me, if what I sense is really her", John defended himself.

The Doctor pouted some more, then spun around to John.

"Speaking of which: Why were you crying?"

John slumped. He had completely forgotten about that.


	7. Chapter 7

Part 7 - John

John let himself drop down into the grass, nearly vanishing in its height and felt the consoling thoughts inside his mind once more. He was not nearly as freaked out about it as he'd thought he'd be should something like that ever happen to him (which, on second thought, he'd never really thought about). But living with Sherlock tended to do then to a man, he concluded. Why should he freak out about some time machine poking around in his mind when a head in the fridge was kind of a normal occurrence by now?

The Doctor flopped to the ground in front of him and watched him curiously.

"It's nothing really. Just a bad day."

"It wasn't nearly 8 am when we met. So... either a long night/bad day, or a really, really, really bad day to start with", the Doctor said.

"The second."

"Oh."

They both remained silent until John couldn't keep the bottle shut anymore and it all started to pour out. Afterwards, he didn't remember much of it, just that the presence in his head was there like a warm blanket or a mother's hand stroking his hair and that the Doctor had listened with rapt attention to it all. One of the moons, the green one, had started to set, a light painted the sky to what he assumed was east and the grass started to gain a purple tint. His voice was hoarse.

The Doctor continued to stare at him for some more minutes. Then he got up and stretched, and held his hand out for John to help him up. John's legs had gone stiff from the crouching on the ground and so he held on a bit longer that seemed necessary, but when he tried to get his hand back, the Doctor held on.

"I don't normally take in strays, but I think if I just brought you back home, the TARDIS would hate me. So... Wanna see the universe?"

John stared at their joined hands, then at the Doctor.

"Sherlock..."

"... won't notice you were gone. Time machine, remember?"

John thought about that for a minute. Then he smiled at the Doctor.

"Yes."

It was... interesting, to say the least.

The Doctor seemed proud to show him everything, planets, super novae, the future earth, it's past.

Sometimes they let the TARDIS decide where to go, and it always was something that fit John's mood, brought him back to his old self, built up his self esteem.

Then there were dayswhen they stayed in and then the Doctor talked about his adventures, about Rose, Captain Jack Harkness, Rose, Sarah Jane, and again, Rose. It didn't take a scientist to see a pattern there.

And it didn't take the Doctor long to see that he was smitten with Sherlock, and this time, John didn't deny it. He talked about what he loved about the sociopathic detective and how he himself didn't really understand why but that he did. He talked about their cases and after he had described the one he had dubbed 'A Study in Pink', the Doctor vanished and came back with a thick red book called 'The Complete Stories of Sherlock Holmes'. And there it was, their first case, not quite as it had happened: 'A Study in Scarlet'.

It was irritating that it was written from his, John's, perspective, putting thoughts in his head that had no place there. But it was amusing to point out what would happen before it did and where Sir Arthur had gotten it wrong and where he so obviously had toned Sherlock down to make him more acceptable to the books audience.

It made him ache for home.

Thinking about why the book was there, that there were not only other planets and the journeys though time they took but other dimensions as well made his head hurt and so he stopped thinking about it and just accepted it.

John didn't keep track of time, of how long he journeyed the universe with the Doctor, but he noticed the change it caused in him. And the Doctor and his TARDIS noticed it, too.

It was when the TARDIS changed a photograph the Doctor had taken and kind of photoshopped it before the printout so that he had a heart around his head and the letters BAMF! underneath it that he knew it was time. He'd had to scan his brain for the meaning of BAMF! and when it came to him, he laughed. Long and loud. It made sense, somehow. It wouldn't have before.

They didn't talk about it, but the next stop had been London. On the day they had first met, just a few hours later.

Before John walked out the door, he turned around and placed his hand on the Doctor's hearts. "Thanks." It was all that needed to be said. That, and the kiss. Sweet and friendly, nothing needy about it. Then the doors of the TARDIS opened and the Doctor placed his hand upon John's heart and pushed him out into the street with a smile. Then he was gone.


	8. Chapter 8

Part 8 - Sherlock

It was almost dark outside when John finally came home.

Sherlock had been standing by the window almost the whole day long, waiting, doing nothing else but visit the loo when he absolutely had to go. He had thought of going out and look for John but that would have required to leave the window and get dressed and most likely John would have picked exactly that moment to come back, so Sherlock had stayed where he was.

Now John came back, almost skipping along the street, in what looked the best mood ever.

Quickly, Sherlock draped himself over the sofa as if he'd been there the whole day long and waited.

Then he remembered that he'd forgotten.

John barged in, not saying a word, threw his jacked over the back of his chair and walked into the kitchen to step on the piece of toast that was still lying, jam-side down, on the floor where he'd dropped it. His foot went out under him and with a nearly silent 'oof' he landed of his backside.

Sherlock froze in equally silent terror.

For some time, nothing happened. Then John started to giggle his adoringly cute little giggle which Sherlock admitted to himself he couldn't get enough of. And which he'd heard almost never during the last few weeks. Sherlock blinked in confusion. John was obviously sitting on his butt on the cold kitchen floor and giggled as if there was no stopping him. He must've hit his head on the table, or maybe he'd finally lost his marbles.

Sherlock heard John scramble to his feet and dusting off his backside, still giggling. Then he heard him move from the kitchen into the living room and just managed to open his eyes as something cold and wet and uncomfortable landed on his face. The toast. Jam-side first. And the backside stank! Well, of course it did, it was mouldy.

John grinned down at him. "I take it that you didn't clean the mirror?"

Sherlock was still busy blinking the jam out of his eyes.

"Then I suggest you do that right after cleaning up yourself, why don't you? Ta-ra."

And with that, John was out the door and stomped up the stairs to his room, still giggling.

Sherlock was still on the couch, trying to process what had just happened.

John had been in one hell of a mood this morning, but in the best of moods now. He had left his money and phone at home, so he hadn't had the possibility to buy himself something to eat and yet he didn't seem to be hungry. And there were other things that didn't make sense.

John looked more tanned as he had in the morning. His hair was longer and lighter, as light as it was in the summer when the sun had bleached it a bit. His clothes weren't as rumpled as they'd been in the morning. All in all it just didn't add up.

There was no way that John could have gotten that tan in one day, even if he'd fallen asleep on a sunbed. Then, he'd be just red, not tanned. And his hair... it was irritating.

Sherlock's mind raced through all the possibilities that didn't add up at all and finally came to the only conclusion. He blinked. The only possible solution, that he had taken John for granted over the last days, no, weeks, even, and that he just hadn't noticed John. Hadn't noticed that John had changed. It disturbed him. How could HE not have noticed those changes in John? How could he have noticed them only just now after John had left him for the day, after John had had him worry about him.

A dollop of jam dropped from Sherlock's forehead down to his mouth and his tongue snuck out to taste it before he thought about it. At first, it tasted like jam, then came the unmistakeable tang of mould. Sherlock grimaced and climbed off the sofa, caught the slippery piece of toast in his hands (which made him wince at the slimy feel of it) and made a beeline to the bathroom. He chunked the toast into the toilet and started to wash his hands and face. When he looked up, he noticed the lipstick-hearts and grabbed some pieces of toilet paper, wet them and started to wipe at the mirror.

The lipstick smeared. He threw the paper into the toilet and started again. After the fourth or fifth try, the mirror was a colourful piece of glass which nobody could even catch a glimpse of themselves in. Sherlock threw the now equally smeary wad of toilet paper into the bowl and flushed.

The he started to curse. Too much paper, not enough water and the toilet was clogged. He looked around for the plunger, then remembered that he had used it for some kind of experiment some weeks ago. Gritting his teeth, he shoved up his sleeve and groped around in the icy water of the toilet bowl for whatever clogged up the drain.

It took him the better part of an hour to get the mirror, the loo, the rest of the bathroom and himself presentable again. And he wasn't quite sure, but during that hour, he thought he could hear John giggling upstairs.


	9. Chapter 9

Part 9 - Sherlock

It was weeks after 'the day John changed', as Sherlock had called it in his mind.

John had been in a better mood, had stopped fussing and had even given him a thorough tongue-lashing after he'd broken down from low blood sugar after a case that had lasted just a day too long to go without food. But John had restrained himself from cooking for him and had just shoved some fructose into his hands and told him to go get something to stuff into his mouth.

Sherlock was strangely disappointed about it.

He had still not found out what had happened to John that he appeared so changed. And after all the time that had passed since then he didn't dare to admit that he wasn't able to figure it out by himself.

John had said nothing about that day, treated him as if it had never taken place.

He appeared more upbeat, smiled more, giggled more, especially about things he'd found embarrassing before, like Donovan slipping on a snail, Anderson splitting a seam in his pants and both of them calling Sherlock 'freak'. That irritated him the most. At the start, John had done nothing about it, then he had started to defend him and now, he giggled when Sherlock did anything that would make him look freaky to other, 'normal' people.

John had started to read, mostly history novels he seemed to find hilarious at times. And he sometimes stood at the windows and looked out, like Sherlock had, waiting for something or someone, but not in worry, but with a little smile on his face.

That he couldn't find out why John's behaviour had changed irked Sherlock to no end.

And then came the day John met HER.

They were on their way back from a case and Sherlock had taken a slip and had fallen flat onto his face in what was most likely the dirtiest, muggiest, most stinky place in whole London. It was not far from 221b, and John was sure each and every cab would tell them to get lost when they saw Sherlock, so they had started the way home on foot.

People they passed gave them a wide berth, muttering and looking and scrunching up their noses at Sherlock, who was only slowly coming down from the high after a solved case and paid them no mind at all. What he minded was John's reoccurring giggle and mumbled words that he couldn't quite get, but what sounded suspiciously like 'flat-faced' and 'timber!'.

One of the people they passed made John do a double-take, though. He stopped, turned around and left Sherlock standing there like he'd completely forgotten him.

"Rose?"

A woman, barely past her twenties, stopped and turned back.

"Rose Tyler?" John jogged up to her and absolutely beamed at her. Sherlock frowned, his after-the-case-high forgotten.

The woman, no, girl, nodded suspiciously, clearly not recognising John at all.

Sherlock couldn't see what John said, his back being turned away from him, but something he said must've broken the ice, because suddenly, the girl's whole posture changed and her eyes became wide and her face changed into the most brilliant smile of joy Sherlock had ever seen a person wearing. She and John clasped hands and then John said something else and the girl, Rose, nodded and off they went, arm in arm, John not so much as glancing back into his, Sherlock's, direction.

It left him speechless. Which he'd never even thought to be around John, but here he was. He contemplated going after him and 'Rose', but then the mud on his face started to itch and he gave up and turned, almost running back to Baker Street for a quick shower and a change of clothes. When he came back to where John had left him mere minutes later, hair still dripping wet, he tried to deduce where they would have gone, but all the places he looked for them, they were not there.


	10. Chapter 10

Part 10 - Rose

"Rose?"

She turned around at the call.

"Rose Tyler?"

There was a man jogging up at her. The one who'd been in the company of the tall, smelly one, who thankfully had stopped further away from her.

The man who had called out to her was rather small, though still taller than her, dirty blond and beamed at her with his whole face. His smile took her by surprise, made her like him on first sight, but her journeys with the Doctor had taught her to be wary.

"I recognised you from pictures the Doctor showed me, Rose, he couldn't stop talking about you. I'm John", the man said then and he felt right , he just had something companion-y about him and her suspicion melted away as if it were an ice cube somebody had thrown into the sun.

"You know the Doctor?" It wasn't really a question and John gave no answer, just grabbed her hands as she reached for his and smiled even more widely at her.

"You know the Doctor! Have you seen him lately? Is he alright? Do you have time, can we talk?" she was breathless with the joy of meeting someone who knew HIM, had talked to him.

John nodded and she hooked her arm through his and off they went. At that moment, neither of them thought about the man they'd had left standing on the pavement like a forgotten umbrella.

They'd made it to the nearest café talking in bursts of speech like when, how, where, and why before Rose had calmed down enough to remember her manners.

John ordered soft drinks for them and Rose used the pause to take her first real look at him.

John was older than she had thought at first, middle thirties at least, with a face that looked ordinary at first glance but had surprisingly handsome features once you looked closer.

"So, let's start this again", she said, still a bit out of breath.

"I'm Rose Tyler, as you already know and since the Doctor couldn't stop talking about me, as you said", the thought made her all woozy inside, "you know considerably more about me than I know about you."

John grinned. "That might not be as true as you think. Did you read 'Sherlock Holmes'?"

Rose nodded. "Loved it!"

John snorted. "Then you know a lot about me already. I'm John Watson."

Rose blinked at him.

"Ha. Ha. Ha."

John just smiled his lovely smile. (And where did that thought come from?)

"No."

John gave a wonderful little giggle.

Rose's eyes widened.

"No!"

John giggled again, even more gleefully this time.

"No way."

"Yes way."

"But... that's a book!"

"What do you think I thought when the Doctor gave me that thing to read?"

"So... you're John Watson. Doctor John Watson."

John nodded, grinning widely.

"You were a soldier."

John nodded again. "Afghanistan, like the me in the book."

"And you live with the great detective Sherlock Homes in 221b Baker Street."

John nodded, then cursed under his breath.

"What?"

"Sherlock."

"What about him?"

"I just left him standing there."

Rose just blinked at him.

"Tall, skinny... smelly guy you passed before I called out?"

"That was HIM?"

"Yep."

"Oh."

They both stared at one another, then burst out laughing.

"I thought he was older", Rose said when she got her breath back,

"Nope. 31."

"Where's your moustache?"

"Oh come on! I tried that once. Never again." John protested.

"Why not?" Rose wanted to know, eyeing his face to figure out what John would look like with a 'stache.

"It itched. And it made me look like a 70's porn star."

Rose stared at him, then they both started laughing again.

"Oh my God. John, I really, really hate to cut this short, but I have to go home now. Please, can we meet again?"

John smiled at her and nodded. "Absolutely. There's so much more I want to talk to you about. Give me a call?" He scribbled his number on the napkin and she programmed it into her phone immediately. Then she texted him.

_To: John Watson_

_What about tomorrow, then? Rose_

John's phone pinged and he glanced down at it in confusion. Then his face lit up. "Thought it was Sherlock. And, yeah, sure!"

"I'll call you when I come from work then."

John beamed. Outside he turned towards her and fidgeted. "Look, can I call you a cab or take you home? It's rather dark out by now."

Rose patted his arm. "No, it's okay. I take the tube all the time and it's not that far from Marylebone to Lambeth."

John checked his mental underground map. "Okay. But let me take you to Warren Street Station then. Accompany you to the tube?"

"Oooh, you're quite the gentleman, John." She kissed him on the cheek. "Doctor's companion here. So no worries. Warren Street is right ahead."

John looked quite surprised about the kiss, then blushed and grinned. "Pity the fool who tries to make a pass, then."

He continued to hold her hand until she turned in direction to the station. She looked back at him, both their arms outstretched, then made a quick step back into his personal space and pecked him on the lips.

"Tomorrow then."

And she was gone.


	11. Chapter 11

Part 11 - Sherlock

John came home after dark, still smiling like a kid in a candy store.

Sherlock was pissed off.

"Sherlock?"

It was not worth an answer.

John stepped into the living room and looked down to the form of his flat-mate lying curled up on the sofa.

"Sherlock, I'm sorry."

Still not worth an answer.

John huffed and turned around to make himself a tea.

"Isn't she a bit too young, John?" Sherlock asked and his tone was meant to sting.

John paused, the kettle by the sound of it half filled and turned off the tap.

"Too young for what?" He turned around and went to lean on the kitchen's sliding door.

Sherlock kept his back toward him.

"She's what, half your age?"

"Not quite." John paused. "What are you implying?"

"Really, John, I didn't take you to be a cradle snatcher." Acidic now.

"She's an adult and it's not about that!" John sounded defensive now.

"Oh, it's not? It's the first time you two meet and she's already kissed you?"

John blinked and then licked his lips. And tasted lipstick. From the experiment with the mirror Sherlock knew he'd tasted strawberry.

"What did you do, offer her money?" he continued.

"Oh, this is low. Is that what you think about me? Think I'm that desperate?" John was fuming now.

"She's no prostitute, and I didn't offer her any money and it's not about sex!"

"She surely dresses like one." Sherlock commented.

"What?" John was speechless.

"Really, John, that top she wore couldn't have any less fabric. Did it turn you on?"

John took a deep breath. His breathing sped up as if he was about to explode, then, unexpectedly calmed down again.

His voice turned soft.

"Are you jealous?"

Sherlock just huffed.

"You are! You have to have my attention and she took it from you, is that it?" John continued.

"No. Of course not." Sherlock's posture, his back still towards John, had become stiff though.

"Ha! I caught you, so stop being nasty." John turned back into the kitchen and finished making his tea.

He clinked around with the cup and saucer and Sherlock could hear him sip his tea, then place the cup in the sink.

"Night, Sherlock."

Not worth an answer.

Sherlock stayed on the sofa for a long time. He hadn't expected to be so see-through. At least not to John. Another of those changes.

He shuddered and turned his thoughts to other matters. One of them what John might want from a girl like this... Rose. And why she had kissed him, on the mouth, on their very first... date?

He hated this human relationship issues. They were too confusing.


	12. Chapter 12

Part 12 - Sherlock

Sherlock hadn't had slept that night, even though there was no case, trying to figure out what kind of relationship there was between Rose and his doctor. Then he had stumbled about that thought – 'his' doctor – and had thought about that.

And that in turn had led back to 'the day John had changed' and to the 'Case of the missing Razor Nick'- It just... didn't... make... sense!

The thought had come to mind that John wasn't John anymore, but had been replaced by... whatever... but then he'd thought again and had concluded that nobody could mimic all that little details that made John John as well as that. Even a twin wouldn't have had the same kind of smirk, the same kind of twinkle in his eye when he grinned, the same kind of way he held his arm when the weather changed and made his scar itch, the funny way he tied his shoes (he made a knot into the two bows instead of wrapping the string around one bow and then looping the second bow through.), the exact amount of time, day by day, John took to brush his teeth, how he seemed to have an in-built measuring weight for the sugar he put in his tea... and... oh, was he done obsessing about John already?

He had turned onto his other side on the sofa and the circle of thoughts had begun again. Irritatingly so, for he wasn't used to his thoughts going in circles.

And then Rose...

Working class, obviously, cared a lot for how she looked and how she was looked at, judging by her taste of clothes, young, much too young for John to be interested in her. He preferred women close to his own age, but not older than him, Sherlock had noticed. Face interesting, the bone structure out of the norm, a face that stood out in a crowd, that feature even more accented by her choice of make-up. Oh, he could see somebody falling for that face in a matter of minutes, but not John. And why she would kiss boring, ordinary, old, normal John (Not! Not! Not! Not! Something inside of him protested, but he squelched that), he couldn't fathom.

But John seemed to be happy about having met her, and being happy put a smile on John's face and that in turn made Sherlock happy. Made Sherlock happy? No, he wasn't happy about John having met that 'Rose'. How could he be happy and unhappy at the same time? Aargh! It.. just... didn't... make... SENSE!

When John came down that morning, Sherlock greeted him with an icy cold demeanour. John stopped, looked at him and shrugged. "Still sulking? Well, I'll leave you alone then."

Spoke, turned, grabbed his things (checking for wallet and phone first) and was gone.

Sherlock was up from the sofa and behind the curtain as soon as he heard John reach the bottom of the stairs. Again, John turned in direction of Regent's Park, and walked off, a happy swing in his steps and... was he whistling?

Sherlock was pissed. How could John be whistling happily when he, Sherlock, had showed him that he was not happy with him? It was all because of that 'Rose'. He decided he hated her.

Lestrade had texted him about a case and, still sulking, Sherlock had refused to inform John about it and taken off without him. The case had been quite simple and so Sherlock returned, Lestrade in tow, and only feeling slightly better, to 221b Baker Street very late that night. And froze when he found John still up, sItting at the kitchen table, holding hands with HER.


	13. Chapter 13

Part 13 - John

John had set off for a full English Breakfast enjoying the absolute bliss of completely un-hazardous food. Then, just to make sure, he went to the place where he and the Doctor had first met. Of course the TARDIS wasn't there, but he felt giddy about being at the place nonetheless.

When he got back home, Sherlock was gone. He'd left no note, no text, nothing. Sherlock being this childish about Rose, sulking about him having been kissed, it made him grin. Perhaps all hope was not lost, perhaps Sherlock was jealous, which meant that he maybe, hopefully felt something for him. On the other hand, Rose took his attention away from Sherlock, so it could be just that, too.

Ah, well.

John busied himself around the flat as he waited for Rose to call, doing the washing, throwing out some of the really nasty experiments (if Sherlock wanted to keep them he shouldn't let them lying around like this) and tidying up.

Rose called him in the late afternoon.

"Hi John!"

"Rose. " He was quite at a loss of words now.

"I'm free for the rest of the day, what about you? Can we meet?"

"Yeah, sure! What about we meet for dinner somewhere?"

"Um, what about... " She stopped.

"What?"

"It's not, well, what about... 221b Baker Street?"

"Here?" John looked around nervously. He had tidied up, but only to the standards of two bachelors sharing a flat...

"Yeah, I mean I've read all about it, refreshed my reading, actually, and you've already seen the TARDIS, and I thought..."

John's face fell a bit. "You want to meet Sherlock."

"What? No! I mean, does he know about the Doctor?"

"No."

"Then, we should meet elsewhere, I want to talk to you."

John's mood lifted again.

"He's not here. Don't know when he'll be back, though."

"Then, I can be there in a few minutes?"

"Yeah, ok, you know where...?"

"Yes, sure!"

John laughed. "See you then?"

"Later, John!" and she hung up.

Still grinning he looked around him. And suddenly a few minutes didn't seem enough.

And already he heard somebody knock at the front door.

Before he could race down the stairs, Mrs Hudson had already opened the door.

"Yes, dear?"

"It's alright, Mrs. Hudson, she's here to see me", John cut in.

"Oh, John, all right then. Sherlock's not come home yet, has he?"

"No."

"He left with that nice detective. Said they had go country-side."

"Oh, okay. Thanks." John waved Rose in and ushered her up the stairs.

"A few minutes?" he hissed at her back.

"Well, two is a few, too, isn't it?" she grinned down at him.

"You just hoped that I didn't have time to clean up and that there were some clues to one or another case are lying around, right?"

"Got me."

"Don't mind the experiments, then."

They talked and talked. John ordered take-out and the they talked on, forgetting time until they heard the front door slam and two pairs of footsteps thump up the stairs.

Sherlock barged in and stopped cold in his tracks when he spotted them sitting in the kitchen, tablets with empty take-out boxes between them.

Holding hands. John refused to let go of Rose's hand at the nasty look Sherlock threw him.

"Hi Sherlock. Lestrade. How's your case been?"

"Easy." Sherlock snapped.

John lifted an eyebrow. "Care to tell me about it? I am your blogger, after all."

"Nothing much. Twin sister killed shortly before her wedding. Stepfather benefited. Only thing was to prove that and how he did it. Sister had said something about a 'speckled band'."

"It was a swamp adder." Rose cut him short.

Sherlock had set up to continue talking but now he looked like a fish out of water.

Lestrade stared at Rose, then at Sherlock, then burst out laughing.

John watched the exchange in growing horror. He tried to keep his giggles in, but he couldn't help it.

"What... how?" Sherlock sounded as shocked as John had ever heard him.

"It's really elementary, you know..." Rose started, but John shut her up by placing his hand over her mouth.

"Oh, please. Sherlock, don't take her seriously. It was a joke. She just guessed."

"But... she was... right?" Sherlock still hadn't gotten his breath back.

"She was?" John tried to look astonished, but failed miserably, because he started giggling again.

"Oh, shut up!" Sherlock turned around, his coat twirling dramatically out behind him and stomped out of the room.

Lestrade wiped tears of laughter out of his eyes.

"What... really, you guessed?"

Rose had freed her mouth of John's hand. "I read a book where a swamp adder had been called a speckled band a few days back. It just... popped out of my mouth."

John broke down with a new fit of giggles.

Dimly, he heard Rose and Lestrade continue talking.

"Oh dear. I think he's got a laughing fit. John, are you all right?" Rose came around the table and crouched down next to him. She placed her hand on his arm and he just collapsed against her, burying his head against her neck, not able to stop laughing. It made his stomach hurt.

Lestrade blinked his eyes furiously and tried to keep in his own urge to guffaw.

"You take care of... that... then, Miss?" he head-pointed at the laughing heap of John she held on to.

"I will, Inspector."

"Okay. I'll let myself out. Bye."

"Bye."

John took a long time calming down. After a while he started to hiccup, which got the giggles going again.


	14. Chapter 14

Part 14 - John

The next few times they met, John and Rose very carefully avoided places where there weren't many people around. Sherlock had started following them, trying to figure out Rose.

They weren't sure that he knew they knew, but they suspected he did and that turned it into a weird, funny, game.

When they knew he was near enough to hear them, they talked about places like Barcelona (of course, they meant the planet, not the city), or New Yo'ak. Cardiff came up often, too (this time, of course, the city, not the star system).

They made a game out of talking about aliens as if they were ordinary people and hint at things they couldn't say out loud for the other to figure out.

And during all of this, things changed.

It was Rose, who figured it out, first.

They were lying on their backs on a blanket in Regent's Park, in the middle of the crowd of other people who enjoyed the blaring sun, rare as it was in London.

Sherlock was close by, but they were far enough away from any trees or tourist groups or other things he could have used to come near enough to overhear them.

They had talked about Barcelona (again), and now Rose was propping herself up on her elbow, looking at John, but saying nothing.

"What?"

Rose smiled and continued just looking at him.

"Do I have something on my face?"

Rose shook her head.

"Then what is it?"

John tried to sit up, but Rose put a hand on his chest and pushed him back down. John noticed that she kept her hand there, over his heart, like the Doctor had.

"It wouldn't be fair", she said then.

"What wouldn't be?"

"You know I love him."

"The Doctor", John clarified.

Rose nodded.

"Yes I know. So?"

"I really want to kiss you, you know."

John's eyebrows shot up. "You... do?"

"But it wouldn't be fair, because I know, and you know, that I would leave you the second the Doctor came back."

John nodded.

"But, you know..." he faltered, not sure if what he was going to say would ever become an option.

Rose made a questioning sound.

"It would be the same with me... and Sherlock." There. He had said it.

Rose smiled at him.

"I know."

"Oh?" John looked a bit miffed.

Rose laughed. "I know you try to hide your feelings for him, but sometimes, when you're sure he's not looking, it's there. Sometimes, you're just... so wide open."

"Oh."

Rose settled back onto her side, but left her hand on John's chest.

"Does he know you fancy him?"

John gulped. "I... don't know, really. He said that he was married to his work and, well, he is a sociopath, he doesn't fit all the symptoms, but the lack of emotion... that's there, it's either work or boredom, which leads to those experiments and I don't know if he'd even realise what my feelings for him were even if he'd noticed them or even if he knew that he would... he would... " He stopped.

"Love you back?" Rose asked softly.

John simply nodded.

"Then it'd be doubly unfair. I wouldn't be able to just leave you, should the Doctor come back..."

Her hand had started to draw little circles over his heart.

"Yes, you would. And it would be all right."

Rose looked up into his eyes.

"So..."

"I would really like you to kiss me. It would be nice, to be close, to someone you l..."

Rose nodded, not needing him to finish the sentence. It would have been a lie, had he said 'love' or 'like', it was something in-between, so she just leaned over and kissed him.

It felt good. Very good. She tasted of strawberry lipstick (of course), and he hadn't known he had craved to taste that lipstick again until he did.

It didn't matter, that she was so much younger than him. What they both had seen on their journeys with the Doctor made them both so much alike that age had no place in it.

Her lips moved against his and her tongue sneaked out and he opened his mouth and let her in. His hands were buried into her hair, and he had rolled around to pull her nearer and then had let himself sink down onto his back again, but this time with her half draped on top of him and it felt so good, too good and he had to stop to come up for air and before other things got... noticeable.

She leaned down to kiss him again.

"Stop."

Before that word could start to sting, he nipped at her lower lip and then bit his own.

"I don't want to stop."

John huffed out a smile and searched her eyes.

"Me neither, but this could get... weird, if we continue. Here."

She took a moment to process that, then grinned.

"Oh. That good?"

John blushed. "Well, look at us... young, beautiful girl like you, old, ugly bloke like me..."

She laughed at that and batted at his chest, sitting up.

"You're not ugly." She searched his face again. "You're kinda... cute?"

John blinked. "Cute?"

Rose nodded. "Definitely. So... wanna take this somewhere else?"

He was dumbstruck.

"You can't mean..."

She grinned. "Well, look at us, young, eager girl like me and handsome, experienced bloke like you... Baker Street is not that far away."

John gulped. "He'll be there."

"So what? Let him hear what he's missing out on."

"Oh God..." The thought of Sherlock listening to him and Rose getting off... it made his ears burn.

Rose had stood up and held her hand out to him. "Coming?"

John guffawed. "Not yet."

Rose threw her head back at that and laughed. "Oh, but I bet you will."


	15. Chapter 15

Part 15 - Rose

The thought of what was about to happen made them stumble up the stairs of 221b in a hurry. There was no saying if Sherlock was home or not, but it didn't matter at all. John ushered her up another set of stairs towards his bedroom, spartan, almost empty, quite the difference from the mess downstairs, the bed straightened tight enough that you could bounce a coin off of the sheets but that was about to change soon.

Rose latched onto John's mouth as soon as they were both inside the room and pushed him back against the door kissing him almost urgently. She slid her thigh between his and there was no mistake in what was pressing back against her there. John groaned into her mouth at the contact and grabbed her backside, pulling her even closer against him, trying to get more pressure.

She pulled his t-shirt from his trousers, wanting to touch him, to feel more of him and the seconds it took for him to get his arms up and for them to stop kissing to let the cloth pass was almost too long.

His hands slid up beneath her top, encountering the clasp of her bra and fumbling with it until he managed to get it open. Again they had to stop kissing for the cloth to pass, but the resulting first touch of skin on skin had them both shaking and gasping for breath.

Surprisingly for Rose, John didn't grab at her breasts, as her other boyfriends had done in this situation, but he slid his hands slowly up her sides, just the fingertips, around her shoulder blades and back down to her elbows, then round to her backside and up again parallel to her spine until he buried his hands in her hair. It made her catch her breath, made her press against him and shudder at the touch, gasp into the kiss.

She pushed her hands against the door frame, trying to get him to back off of it so that she could return the movement, but when she managed to get her arms around him, she had to hold on and lift her leg, hooking her knee around his hip to try and feel him through the denim of their jeans and he groaned at the movement against him and started to do tiny thrusts against her core.

"Too many clothes..." he panted against her mouth and, reluctantly, they let go of each other and, after fumbling with the other's buttons and belts and zippers, they shared a heated look and quickly got rid of their own clothing instead of the other's.

When they came together again this time, both their knees threatened to buckle under the sensation.

John's cock burned against her stomach and as she lifted her leg again, he hoisted her up and then it was there, the friction she had needed as his cock slid between her legs and as his thrusts against her rubbed against her clit.

The edge of the doorframe dug painfully into his back, Rose noticed and she let her leg slide down again, for a moment trapping his cock between her thighs and squeezing and John wobbled on his feet.

"Bed." His voice was hoarse.

She managed to turn them around and back John into the edge of the bed before they both toppled over. Rose managed to catch herself on hands and knees next to John, and not on him (a knee to the groin in this situation? Not good!), then used her position on top of him to crawl up and lower herself down onto his hips trapping his cock between them again.

John's eyes closed at the sensation and Rose started to move, rubbing herself against him without letting him slip into her, yet. They had cleared the protection issue on their rush to 221b (pill, clean, good!) and Rose relished the sensation of feeling his hot drops of pre-come mixing with hers between them.

She fought against closing her eyes at the sensation and looked at John, his head pressed back into the pillow, eyes scrunched shut, breath coming in short gasps. His hands clutched her thighs, and she scanned his torso, the scar on his shoulder, the dusting of hair on his chest, and his nipples begging for her to touch them. And then she noticed something else. A reflexion in the plastic cover of John's alarm clock, a tall figure standing in the doorway, watching them.

It gave her a thrill. She lifted herself up a bit, knowing full well that she gave Sherlock a clear view of her assets, grabbed John's cock and slowly, oh so slowly, took him in.

John stilled beneath her, his breath caught in his throat and his hands now gripping her thighs hard enough to leave bruises. This time, she couldn't keep her eyes open any longer. As soon as she felt John's pubic bone against her own she started to move, not just up and down, but circling her hips, trying to get the angle just... right. There.

The next time she lifted herself up, John surprised her by changing the grip on her thighs, keeping her lifted and began to thrust up. She almost fell forward, he had the angle and force of it so right, hitting her sweet spot with every move, and now she latched onto his nipples, clawing one hand into his chest just to hold on, while the other hand stroked and twisted and circled and John had started panting now, his movements becoming quicker and more and more urgent and then, almost without warning, the both crashed into their orgasms, Rose almost blackening out by the force of it.

When they came back to their senses, Rose slid down against John, resting her head on his chest, and she glanced up at the alarm clock again. Sherlock was gone.


	16. Chapter 16

Part 16 - Sherlock

Sherlock sat on the sofa, thinking when they came back down. After. They didn't come in, just went right out into the streets again, doing... well, whatever people did... after.

He wouldn't know.

He wasn't sure what had made him do it. When he had seen them kissing in the park, he had been irritated, shocked, even, if he thought about it. And it had hurt. A bit. He had turned around and fled the park, he still wasn't sure why, and had gone home to lie on the sofa and figure it out.

The he had heard them come in, and the rhythm of their steps, the noise they made, told him that this was far from over. He had been furious that John had taken her home, back into what was THEIRS, not HERS, and was about to leave the flat to not have to hear that noise they made when something had made him turn up the stairs instead of down.

He had heard them against the door, moving, breathing, gasping, then the squeak of the bedsprings. And then he had been at the door, the door that had not been properly closed, and he had no idea how he had gotten there or how the door had come open and then he saw.

John, lying on his back, on his bed, and this 'Rose' on top of him, pinning him down with her weight, moving against him. And John had looked as if he'd been in pain, eyes squeezed shut. And then she'd looked up and he knew. He knew that she'd seen him, and that he would stay, and watch and part of him had been fascinated at her aroused flesh and at John's and at the sight of their joining. And another part of him had screamed inside of him to stop this, to grab her and throw her out for doing this to John, for he knew, he was 100 % sure, that she didn't love him, that she was using him and that she would leave him. And still another part, the part that scared him most right now was that part that had wanted to grab her and throw her out, but not because she was going to hurt John, but to get her out of the way so that he could take her place, so that he could be the one who made John look like that, who made him hard like that, who touched him and caressed him and kissed him.

And he was sure that she had known all of this when she had lowered herself down, when she took John in, when she started to move, when he started to move. He had wanted to turn around and run, run as far and fast as he could but he had stayed, rooted in place until he had seen them come undone at the same moment. That was the moment when his feet had turned him around and carried him down to the lounge again and he had slumped down on the sofa, not able to move, not able to get those pictures out of his head.

And he had heard them leave. And he had stayed. And he didn't know what to do now.


	17. Chapter 17

Part 17 - John

When John came back home that night, late, Sherlock had been up, not really a surprise.

John had come in and found him sitting on the sofa, fingers steepled under his chin, looking through the wall.

And he'd known then that Sherlock had heard them. Of course he had. But, what whould he do now? Part of John hoped he would just ignore it. He stood in the kitchen and listened to Sherlock breathing in the other room.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm."

Well, at least Sherlock still 'talked' to him.

"I'm going to make tea. Want a cup?"

"Hmm."

That noise again. Could been anything, yes, no, maybe, fuck off... He took it to mean yes.

Making tea kept him busy for a moment, but then the task was done and he had to face Sherlock in the other room. It would have been weird to just tell him his tea was ready and then just leave the room.

He noticed his hand didn't shake as he carried the mug over to his flat-mate. Dangerous territory for his subconscious, then.

"There you go."

Sherlock didn't look up, didn't take the mug, just head-pointed in direction of the coffee-table.

John sighed, set the mug down and went to sit in his armchair.

"I'm sorry. We didn't close the door..."

John watched Sherlock's hand freeze on the way to his tea mug. He wondered why.

"Were we too loud?"

Slowly, Sherlock crossed the rest of the space to his mug and grabbed it. John noticed that Sherlock's had trembled at bit when he lifted the mug to take a sip. And that Sherlock didn't meet his eyes.

"Hmm."

Well, that could mean everything.

"It won't happen again."

John didn't specify if he meant the noise, the open door, or the shagging.

"Hmm."

John glanced up at Sherlock and noticed again that Sherlock refused to look anywhere but the floor, or his mug. So he took the chance and Looked.

Sherlock appeared shaken, his hair in wild disarray and if he'd run his hands through it, he sat there with his shoulders hunched together, his stance slouched down, and the hand that held the mug was still shaking. Sherlock quickly moved his other hand around the mug, too, as if he'd noticed him noticing it. It almost looked as if Sherlock was about to curl himself up into a protective ball.

John finished his tea, hiding a little grin against the mug.

"You got any more laundry to do? I think I need new sheets."

Sherlock shuddered.

John grinned wider now, took Sherlock's empty mug from his hands, deliberately touching him in the process and carried the mugs onto the kitchen. There he stopped grinning and stared down into the sink. What they'd done had shaken Sherlock up. What he wasn't sure of was if that was a good thing or a bad thing.


	18. Chapter 18

Part 18 - John

They hadn't done it again. Kissing, yes, but not more.

Several weeks passed, and several cases had made their meetings rarer, shorter, but John and Rose had stayed close.

Sherlock seemed to have come out of the shock of being a 'witness' and just ignored them most of the time. He still followed them, though, not every time, but here and there they caught a glimpse of him, watching them.

And then came the day when John had felt it. Something brushing against his mind.

"He's back."

Rose stopped talking and stared at him.

"What?"

John's face lit up in a wide grin and he jumped up from his chair in the diner they were sitting in and grabbed her hand.

"The Doctor! He's back!"

Rose let him tug her out of her chair and into the street, still unbelieving.

"But, how do you know?"

"I can feel the TARDIS looking for me!" John was almost running by now.

"What?" Rose tried to keep up with him. They rounded a corner and there she was.

Rose gasped.

John grinned and held her back as she tried to run toward the blue police box that stood there, as if it had ever been, when it definitely had not the last time they had been here.

"I don't think the Doctor knows you're back here, in this dimension. He still thinks he lost you. That was why I was so shocked when I first met you. And that was why he hasn't been looking for you",

John stage-whispered. "Let's surprise him, why don't we?"

Rose was shaking now, but she nodded, grinning widely.

John pulled her with him and opened the door to the TARDIS. Nobody was in the console room, but the humming in his mind intensified as the TARDIS welcomed him home.

"Where is he?" he whispered.

In his mind the TARDIS gave him a nudge to the right. John followed her hints, like he'd done when he'd first been here, grinning at the strange but homey feeling. Rose followed close behind him.

They found the doctor in his room, shaking out his suit jacket.

"Hi!" John greeted him nonchalantly, keeping Rose hidden behind him.

The Doctor jumped.

"What? John! How..." he stopped, glanced to the ceiling and started to grin. "You...!"

"I've got something for you."

Rose stepped into the room from behind John and the Doctor's jaw dropped.

"Rose..."

And then they'd been in each other's arms, hugging, kissing, crying, touching and shaking all over.

John leaned back against the doorframe and when it became clear that they had completely forgotten about him, he tried to sneak out, but the door closed in front of him and refused to open again.

Behind him, the hugging and kissing and touching became more urgent and John wished he could hide somewhere. He wanted to give them their privacy, but the TARDIS refused to let him out.

He tried to pry his fingers between the door and the frame when something hit the back of his head. He turned around and the next item of clothing (Rose's bra) hit him squarely in the face.

This was quickly becoming uncomfortable and he just wished that the floor would open up and swallow him when he felt something like a giant tongue licking his front from his toes to his hairline.

He gave an embarrassed squeak and looked around wide-eyed for the source of that lick that had clearly been underneath his clothes, not on top of them when the tongue came again, this time on his backside. And this time, it touched everything there was left to touch in one go. Quite wobbly now, who wouldn't be after they'd unexpectedly had their balls licked, John slid down to the floor. What the hell was that?

Then it came again, licking all, every... single... one..., of his erogenous zones in one go and his insides turned mushy. And now he recognised it for what it was. It was inside his head. It was something stimulating his brain in all the right places, which wonderfully worked like sex in reverse, not the touching stimulating the brain but the other way around, and it felt glorious and too much and not enough and it only took seconds before he came in his pants. Quite audibly so.

The room turned silent.

Then the lights in the room dimmed, then lit up painfully brightly and then shut down completely.

A few seconds later, they turned back on, set quite low, warm and comfortable.

"Oh dear."

John recognised that someone... male... was talking, but he didn't care one iota what he had said, or why.

"What happened to him?"

This one was female.

"Oh, shit, John, I'm so sorry, I had no idea she was able to do that, I knew she had a crush on you but this... "

Somebody tugged at him.

"Help me get him up on the bed!"

"Who are you talking about?" the female voice asked from the vicinity of his feet.

"The TARDIS!"

"What!" The female sounded quite shocked. He knew he should be shocked, too, but he didn't care.

"Why would she do this?"

"Look what we did..." the male answered and the female stopped moving.

"Oh."

"Help me get his clothes off, or he'll be stuck in them later."

Somebody tugged at his clothes, touching him unexpectedly. John cringed. Then he giggled.

"Oh, don't tell me you're ticklish?"

The hand tried to grab the hem of his shirt. John slapped at it and giggled again.

It took them about five minutes to get his clothes off completely, while John was flailing between them, laughing so hard tears had started to run down his face.

It took five more minutes before John had calmed down enough to rely on his senses again.

"Sorry..."

"Don't be", the Doctor said, kneeling next to him, stark naked.

John tried not to look and found Rose sitting on his other side, equally naked and sporting a black eye. John's eyes went wide. "Oh, God, I'm so, so sorry!"

"Don't be", Rose repeated and smiled down at him. Then she grinned. "It was worth it."

The Doctor leaned over him and examined his face closely.

"What?"

"I think you made the TARDIS come."

"I... what?" John blinked. "I thought it was the other way around."

"Yes. That, too." The Doctor grinned. "That makes two out of four. Want to help the rest of us?"

John just stared. Then grinned. The nodded.


	19. Chapter 19

Part 19 - John

"You up for another go yet?" the Doctor glanced down into John's lap.

"Err. No. Not yet."

"Okay. Do you think watching will do?"

John blinked, then nodded. "Yeah..."

And watch he did. The doctor was like a whirlwind in bed, pulling Rose down onto her back and kissing her mouth and then down the rest of her before she could even moan.

"Go kneel behind her head so that she can watch."

John didn't ask just did it and felt Rose's hair in his lap, touching his still limp cock, and it felt so very weird-good that he sighed in bliss. The Doctor had dived down between Roses legs and did things that obviously felt fantastic to her. John watched. And learned. And watched some more.

It didn't take long for Rose to keen her orgasm to the room, grabbing his hand so hard that he had feared for his fingers.

The Doctor rose up, licking his mouth and John gulped. The Doctor grinned and moved up and kissed him and John couldn't help but groan at the combined taste of them. Rose used the opportunity to lick at the Doctor's cock standing to attention on front of her face.

"Ouch!"

"Sorry there", the Doctor apologised, his eyes closed, "didn't mean to bite your tongue... God, Rose..."

He reached down and gabbed John's half erect cock. "Not quite... there..." He shuddered, as Rose did something wicked with her tongue against him.

John jumped as the TARDIS stroked his mind again and his cock got hard so fast he thought it would explode. His head hit the headboard behind him and he saw stars. "Stop... that..." he managed to groan, then groaned some more as the Doctor grabbed him again. "Yep, that will do quite nicely."

"Huh?" John was proud of his eloquence at that moment.

"You know what I wanna do?" the Doctor asked as he danced around them on his knees, pulling Rose off of John's lap and John himself up onto his knees.

"What?" Rose took the bait.

"I wanna do you both at once."

John's mind boggled at the idea. "How?" He glanced down to the Doctor's lap. "Two hearts, two... no."

The Doctor snorted.

"Nope. You're gonna do Rose." John nodded, he could do that. "And I'm gonna do you."

John stopped. "Do... me..."

"Right." The Doctor positioned John between Rose's legs and gave his backside a firm slap.

John froze. "I've never..."

"Well, you want to do Sherlock, right? Then you'd better know how it's done."

There was nothing to say to that.

"Can I watch?" Rose asked. John froze again.

"Sure", the doctor answered and turned John around so that his backside faced Rose.

John steeled himself. He was a doctor, he knew what to expect. And that didn't make things easier.

"Relax, John. I won't hurt you." And there it was, the pressure of a lubed up finger against him. It felt strange, but then the Doctor touched what John knew was his prostate and the world grew fuzzy around the edges. The urge to move back against now two fingers grew, too, and John wasn't sure, but he thought the TARDIS might have been involved in that, and soon he couldn't wait, he wanted more, and harder and faster and he didn't remember if he'd said that out loud but the Doctor turned him around once more and he felt movement beneath him and there was Rose and without thinking he slid home. The he blinked. He had expected something inside him, not him inside Rose and the sensation felt weird for a second, but then there was pressure behind him and it built up more and more and then he felt the Doctor push himself inside of him, but slowly, much too slow and without thought he shoved back. The Doctor cursed and John froze. That HURT. "Dammit, John, slowly." John took a deep breath, then carefully squeezed his muscles. It hurt, still, but not nearly as much. He heard the Doctor gasp behind him.

"I'm ready", he whispered and the Doctor started to move, pushing him against Rose, who gasped. Then, without warning, the Doctor started a shallow, but quick rhythm against them both, which got deeper and harder with every move until John felt himself turn mushy inside all over again. Everything turned white and he felt himself being moved and turned onto his side and he didn't mind that one bit as he fell asleep without meaning to.

He woke up again, later, watching Rose and her Doctor nibble and kiss at each other, then turning their attention to him when they noticed he was awake. Things turned a bit foggy after that, until the smell of bacon and eggs, courtesy of the TARDIS, began to waft through the room, waking not only them but their growling stomachs as well.


	20. Chapter 20

Part 20 - Sherlock

Sherlock looked up when John came home late the next morning. And he noticed something was off right away.

John moved... carefully, was the right word for it and he almost jumped back up when he let himself drop down into his armchair, his face scrunched up in pain and then resumed sitting while leaning to the right. Sitting on only one cheek.

And then Sherlock noticed the bruise at John's neck and his vision clouded up.

"What happened?"

John looked up startled at his tone of voice.

"Nothing."

"Don't lie to me."

Sherlock leapt up and grabbed John's arms, pulling him up unto he stood securely on his feet, then ripped his long-sleeved shirt up over his head. And hissed at the sight.

John's body was covered in bruises of various shapes and colours.

"He came back."

"Who?" John sounded genuinely puzzled.

"Rose's lover."

John's eyes opened wide.

"How did you... never mind."

"What did he do to you, beat you up? Did he... rape you?"

John baulked. "No!"

"I saw how you tried to sit, John. If he hurt you..."

"Sherlock! He did nothing of the sort!"

John ripped himself free of Sherlock's grip and pulled his shirt back down.

"It was all consensual!"

Sherlock eyed him suspiciously.

"I don't believe you. He was away and you had sex with his girlfriend and now he's back and you're black and blue and obviously there's been homosexual relations and you try to tell me it was all consensual? Stop lying to yourself! She set you up, John, from the beginning on, she knew that he'd come back and she knew she'd drop you as soon as that happened. Maybe you thought it was consensual, but I think they did it to hurt you even more, to make you think there was something special between you and then they'd just forget that you even existed."

John was fuming now.

"Sherlock, this is none, absolutely none of your business. I knew that I was only second choice. I knew that she would leave as soon as he was coming back but it doesn't matter!"

"Why?" Sherlock was puzzled.

"Because it was the same way with me."

Sherlock frowned.

"You took her even if you knew she loved another and she took you even though she knew you were in love with... but you aren't! I would have noticed if you had been in love with someone else."

"No, you wouldn't have."

"Yes I would..."

"No, you wouldn't have because I loved you right from the start."

Silence.

"Shit."

Sherlock just stared at John.

"Me?"

"Shit, Sherlock, I'm sorry. I didn't meant to, I know you don't... shit, this is awkward."

"Me?"

John sagged down and grabbed at the wall behind him for support.

"I ruined it all, now, didn't I? Look, I know that you don't like me that way and that you don't like being around emotional people and I won't... I won't... you don't have to be afraid I'm gonna jump you or something. I'll... I'll just... leave. Okay? I'll just..."

Sherlock watched John inch around to the door, then rip it open and vanish up the stairs. He heard the door slam upstairs and then the sound of John kicking the dresser.

"Me?"

He slid to the floor, still trying to process what John had just told him. Suddenly, everything made sense. The fussing, the way John had instantly trusted him, the... everything.

Then... "Leave?"

Sherlock took the stairs in three long strides and kicked open the door. John was rummaging around in the drawers of his wardrobe, suitcase open upon the bed, tears on his face.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Sherlock stepped over discarded clothing on the floor and slammed the suitcase shut.

"I'm packing. What does it look like?" John's voice sounded weird, all clogged up from the tears, mixed with an anger Sherlock didn't understand.

"Why?"

"Because you don't want me around. Not like this. Not now that you know."

"Says who?"

"What?"

"Who says that I wouldn't want you around?"

"Sherlock. You don't do emotion. And I wouldn't be able to go on, knowing you knew how I felt, still following you around like a puppy even while we both know it's useless, and you would start to pity me and I would start to hate myself and..."

Sherlock silenced him with a kiss. Or with what he thought was one, just pressing his mouth against John's.

"I don't do emotion. Yes. But that doesn't mean I don't have them. You... intrigue me, John. When you said you'd leave... it hurt. I don't want it to hurt. I want you to stay. It hurt when you kissed that 'Rose'. It hurt when you laughed with her, not with me. It hurt when I saw you... you..." he faltered.

John gaped at him. "Wait, wait, wait... what are you saying?"

"I don't know. There is something... inside of me... that... that needs you John. When you were with Rose, I wanted it to be me." Sherlock felt heat rise to his cheeks and he somehow wasn't able to look at John.

"Wait, you saw..." John gulped audibly. Then he seemed to reconsider something.

"Just now... was that supposed to be a kiss?"

Sherlock nodded. He had it done wrong. He was sure of that. He felt himself blush even more.

"Come here. Let me show you how it's done."

Something, John's fingers, lifted up his chin and then John was kissing him and it was different from what he'd done and he shuddered at the sensation and at the feeling of John being so close and then John opened his mouth and his tongue touched Sherlock's lips and made him open up and oh... oh, my, GOD...

His knees gave way and he fell and pulled John right with him and they were both sitting on the middle of a heap of John's clothes but they were still kissing and he could fell his body react, heat up and suddenly John's hand was there and... oh. OH.

He blinked.

John grinned. "New experience? Kissing, I mean?"

Sherlock, still dazed, nodded.

"I noticed that you like it."

Sherlock felt something cool against his skin down 'there'.

He let himself fall forward and lead his forehead against John's.

"Indeed." Was all he managed to get out.

"There's more than kissing."

"I know."

"I take it you've never tried it?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"Want me to teach you?"

"If it means you'll stay?

"Oh, God, yes!"

Inside the TARDIS, a phone beeped.

_TO: Rose Tyler_

_\O/ :DDD _

_JW_


End file.
